No. Not when the gentleman in question had been betrothed as a child. It was not fair to expect him to forgo all of the entertainments in which his friends partook, just because his father had signed a contract a few decades earlier. Once the date was set, however, that was a different story.

Or rather, it would be, if the Willoughbys ever managed to get Wyndham to set a date.

“You don’t appear to be terribly excited to see him,” Elizabeth remarked.

Amelia sighed. “I’m not. Truth be told, I enjoy myself far better when he stays away.”

“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Grace assured her. “He’s actually rather sweet once one gets to know him.”

“Sweet?” Amelia echoed dubiously. She had seen the man smile, but never more than twice in a conversation. “Wyndham?”

“Well,” Grace hedged, “perhaps I overstated. But the duke will make you a fine husband, Amelia, I promise you. He’s quite diverting when he chooses to be.”

Amelia and Elizabeth stared at her with such expressions of disbelief that Grace actually laughed and added, “I do not lie! I swear! He has a devilish sense of humor.”

Amelia knew that Grace meant well, but somehow this failed to reassure her. It wasn’t that she was jealous. She was quite certain she was not in love with Wyndham. How could she be? She rarely had occasion to exchange more than two words with the man. Still, it was rather unsettling that Grace Eversleigh had come to know him so well.

And she could not tell this to Elizabeth, in whom she usually confided everything. Elizabeth and Grace had been fast friends since they’d met at the age of six. Elizabeth would tell her that she was being silly. Or she’d give her one of those dreadful looks that were meant to be sympathetic but instead came out as pitying.

Amelia seemed to be on the receiving end of many such glances these days. Usually whenever the topic of marriage arose. Had she been a betting woman (which she actually thought she might be, should she ever be given the opportunity to try), she would have wagered that she had received sym-pitying looks from at least half the young ladies of the ton. And all of their mothers.